Punished (Calavera Hotels #1)

Chapter Nine Mireya

I open up the apartment to see Alma’s cat, Don Cheetos, stretching on the couch. Alma didn’t have to work, so she stayed at Thalia’s and slept off her hangover while I rushed to my Friday morning classes. I could barely sleep last night after Adrian left. He called me Mariah. Again. And when he pulled away and saw my face, I could have sworn he was holding back a laugh. He’s playing with my head. I know he saw the bracelet he gave me. He remembered.

I start a load of laundry and start a pot of coffee. If I am going to study through the night, I am going to need all the energy. Alma usually cooks dinner on Friday nights, and that would give me more time to study. I need to focus on school first and then worry about whatever is going on with Adrian .

As if she can sense my distress and needs to add to it, I get a call from my mother. I hit the ignore button, too tired to deal with her verbal assaults and passive aggressive remarks. Constance Torres only calls me when she needs some form of entertainment or someone to gossip to about the Consuelo Family. I hate the way it makes me feel to listen to her made up stories about the family, when they treat me far better than she ever did.

“It looks like Adriana Consuelo got a nose job. She should have done something about those hideous eyebrows.”

“Why does Olivia Consuelo never smile? I heard the twins’ dad left her because she was always nagging.”

“How did Thalia lose all that weight? Is she sick?”

And on and on, her obnoxious questions go, her jealous vile spilling all over the place. Projecting her insecurities onto me. Once the call goes to voicemail, I pull out a palo santo stick Alma had given me for Christmas and light it. I circle the sacred stick over my phone as if it will get rid of my mother’s attempt to drain my energy.

Every time I answer one of her calls, it is the same thing. She talks and talks until the conversation inevitably ends with me defending myself and telling her I don’t have time to worry about what other people did or didn’t do with their lives. She would hang up, and within minutes, I would receive a text accusing me of caring more about the Consuelos than my own mother. It’s exhausting, and I don’t have time for it today. I could go months without speaking to her.

If she wasn’t talking about the Consuelos, then she was talking about my father’s family. She would even go as far as to call him names without thinking about how it affected me.

I miss him so much. He always carried the weight for my mother when it came to parenting. He was at every open house, he supported my hobbies and encouraged all my dreams.

“Anything you want to do, you can do, Gordita. You just got to put your mind to it.”

I hated when kids made fun of my weight, but when my dad called me Gorda, it was a form of endearment. If I told white people my dad called me fatty, they would probably put me through rounds of therapy, but some words didn’t translate directly. His family was from Jalisco, and my grandmother would make this sweet bread, gorditas de nata. They were my favorite, and in true Mexican fashion, it became my nickname. I smile, thinking of his voice. I needed his encouragement now more than ever.

I study for the rest of the afternoon and well into the night. I barely hear Alma get home until I hear a knock at my door.

“I made some Caldo de Pollo,” she says softly, and when I open the door, I notice her eyes are red and puffy. She is an empath, so I know she’s sensitive, and anything from a lost dog flyer to a sad song makes her cry, but this feels more serious.

“You okay?”

“I don’t know. I’m about to start my period and Adrian gave me a letter the other day and I have just been really emotional about it.” Something like jealousy builds in my gut before I shove it down. “That guy is such an asshole.”

“He wrote you a letter?” I ask, still trying to piece together how they would know each other.

“No. I don’t even know him, but he is connected with someone from my past. Someone who has now recruited Adrian to be his messenger and guard dog. The letter was from him.”

“I’m sorry, Alma. Just don’t read the letters, and we’ll have Thalia talk to Adrian.”

“I texted you earlier today to tell you I saw him talking to your mom in the front lobby.” Shit. I had been deep into studying. I sometimes go days without checking my phone. I run to my room and grab my phone off the bed.

Sure enough, I have six more missed calls from my mother, the text from Alma, and several texts from my mother.

“Mireya, why aren’t you answering me?”

“I guess I’ll have to go to the hotel and make sure the Consuelos haven’t killed you.”

“Do you still have your restaurant pass for the seafood buffet?”

“Why did you not tell me Adrian Ibarra was out of jail and WORKING with you?”

She must have run into Adrian while looking for me. It was Friday, and every Friday the restaurant sets out an all-you-can-eat seafood buffet. We all have free passes once a month for the buffet. Since I hate seafood, I usually give her mine.

I should have answered her earlier. As much as I hate to do this, I decide to give her a call to figure out what she said to Adrian. She picks up on the first ring.

“Nice to see you can remember your own mother.”

“Hi, Mom. Sorry, I’ve just been really busy with school and studying.”

“Yes, and I’m sure Adrian has been a part of that really busy schedule.” Her sarcasm is like nails to a chalkboard. An entire Palo Santo tree couldn’t get rid of this woman’s negativity.

“He just started working there. We barely see each other, and I’m not sure he even remembers me,” I say, that familiar anxiety building up in me. Ready to start defending my every life choice.

“Oh, he remembers you. He recognized me immediately,” she says before she rambles on about her hate toward Enrique Consuelo. I let her drag on for a few minutes before I find the perfect exit strategy and hang up.

I go back into the kitchen to eat with Alma and pick up the dishes. She knows how heavy the conversations get with my mother, so she doesn’t pry into it. We lounge in the living room and watch a few episodes of Vampire Diaries as we both try to wind down from everything going on around us. My mind is in another place. I need to call Adrian out on his bullshit. First this dumb little game of pretending he doesn’t know me and then the fucking letter he gave Alma. I can tell she’s still shaken up about it, especially if she, of all people, doesn’t want to talk about it.